A Lotta Heart
by nelliesbones
Summary: "Bones, she believes in the system." Except that she didn't. Not completely. Not anymore... This is a story about a woman protecting her family. A story about the man who loves her. Spoilerfree, warm-hearted and M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

_This one's for Tracy (some1tookmyname) who asked me to write something about Verdict in the Story. I'm pretty sure she doesn't mind that I'm using this beautiful episode as an opener to deal with the season seven finale. _

_One thing: I do not write case fics, and the key to Brennan and Christine coming home safe and sound is outsmarting Pelant. Don't expect me to solve that riddle. This one's just about the heart._

_But a lotta heart._

A LOTTA HEART

The First Chapter in the Story.

_Dr. Brennan is hyper-rational. She's capable of rationalizing almost anything. _

_Including murder?_

_It is the danger of the totally rational human being. _

_But did she have a motive? _

_Yes, she had motive. Kirby tried to kill her brother. _

_It's a lotta heart, Bones._

-BONES-

A lotta heart...

He had been the one to tell her to switch off her brain, not to rationalize this one. What had he said to her? Ah, yes, "pop your heart into overdrive". And she had been watching him, regarding him with her big blue eyes, her lips twisted somewhere between a smile and a sob. Looked at him as if he had just disembarked a spaceship, had come from another sphere straight into her living room. Her home. Her inner circle.

She had looked as if she might need a hug, and he had already been able to see her in his arms, her auburn hair buried in the crook of his neck, the evening sun reflected in the silky tresses. Her father's murder trial, this obvious – obvious to everyone but her – conflict of interest could not come between them, not separate them for real. Except that it could, as Booth couldn't help thinking with a tug somewhere in his heart region, when Zack had announced the discovery of the murder weapon. Awkward and brilliant and stupid Zack.

A lotta heart. He should have known what she was up to as she presented her idea of an alternate story to him, but then again, how could he? This was so unlike her. Like Sweets had said in the stand, Brennan was hyper-rational, capable of rationalizing almost anything.

_Almost_.

In the end, it seemed as if Angela had been right. The only one unconfused.

Because, for once, Brennan went with her heart, regardless of the consequences.

A lotta heart...

He hurt for her, as Max' lawyer tried to present her as a possible suspect, was mad, really, really mad at her for sacrificing herself like that. For letting people think that she was less than warm-hearted, less than the beautiful and caring woman he knew. And, even though he couldn't admit it, at least not yet, he was proud, a little bit proud as well.

The woman he had met over three years ago had put her career, her professional reputation over everything else. Granted, there had been a few bonds of loyalty, tentative friendship even, but when it came to the bottom of things, she didn't rely on people, she relied on science.

The woman he had met over three years ago wasn't the one who was standing on those steps right now, looking so fragile in her dark blue coat, a myriad of emotions twisting her beautiful face. He could read them, though, could read them all.

_I'm so sorry, I had to do it._

_I know, I understand._

_What have I done?_

_Following your heart?_

_Is it worth it?_

_It always is, Bones._

_Forgive me?_

_Stupid woman._

A whole conversation took place in one gaze, and there was no reason to hide anymore. She was open to him, so open, and, finally, he got his chance to take her in his arms. Reassuring her as much as reassuring himself.

She had done the most stupid thing today. Risking her heart. Risking so much more. And he was mad and glad, so glad.

His hands rubbed her back in a soothing rhythm, as she clung to him, proving him, herself and the world that they were on the same side. Would always be.

And it had been worth it. Against all odds, she had changed the outcome. Had thrown herself in front of her father. Had altered the story. Booth couldn't tear his eyes away from her, as she was so happily locked in Max' fierce embrace, couldn't stop looking at her, into her. He wanted to hold her again, but this wasn't his victory. He was just a bystander, a witness of how she had done the most amazing thing.

Brain versus heart.

One for the heart.

A lotta heart.

-BONES-

They ended up in a bar, all of them. Nobody but Zack found this confusing, and beer softened the edges, Scotch calmed the emotions. The past days had taken a toll on them, and everything felt raw somehow, like a wound that had just begun to heal and would be sore for a little bit longer.

Exhaustion came soon, lowering defenses, and when the piano man started to hit the one or other heart with his tunes, the group split apart on mutual agreement. After all, it wasn't an end. For some of them it was just a bump in the road, for others a beginning. As for Booth... it had been a glimpse. A glimpse of a side of her he hadn't known so far. He knew that she cared, knew about the passion simmering underneath her strong shell.

But he had never seen her bending the truth before and in doing so, still staying true to herself. She had evolved, outgrown the parameters of her self-built world of reason, and when he poured himself another Whiskey, later at home, he couldn't help but wonder what it would do to her.

Where they would go from here.

He didn't have to wonder that long because there was a knock on the door and he knew only one person who would come to him in the last hour of the day. It was the one he wanted to see.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

The Second Chapter in the Story.

"Hi Bones."

She was wearing different clothes than earlier today, gray jazz pants and a pale pink sweater, indicating that she must have been, however briefly, at home.

Opening his door wider, he let her in, gesturing towards the bottle on the table.

"Scotch?"

Brennan nodded.

"Yes please."

"Come on, take a seat."

Sitting down on his couch almost carefully, Brennan accepted the offered tumbler. He fell into the cushions next to her, resting his feet sloppily on the table, raising his glass.

"To the heart."

She nodded wordlessly and took a sip of the smoky drink. Silence spread out between them, and he let it fill the room, knowing that she would speak, eventually. For now, he was fine with sharing a drink.

A clock hit midnight somewhere, announcing the new day, and, finally, she turned her head to look at him.

"Booth... why am I here?"

He took a moment to ponder her question, twisting the glass in his hand.

"To understand why you did it. To hear that you did the right thing."

More silence, as she filed away his answer.

"Did I?"

Straight to the core of the problem, as always.

He leaned back with a sigh.

"Does it feel right?"

"Yes. And no."

"See, Bones, there's more than one 'right'. Did your parents do the right thing in leaving you behind? Intention versus outcome. Was it right for your father to protect you the way he did? Is it right for you to love him?"

Her brow furrowed, as she tried to take in his words.

He spoke on.

"There are a lot of wrongs, but, Bones, we can only work with what we get, make the best out of it, you know? And there can be rights in wrongs."

"That doesn't really make sense..."

"But you understand what I mean?"

Gnawing at her bottom lip, she nodded.

"Is it right to love my dad?"

A smile spread out on his face, as he tugged at her arm, forcing her to fall into the cushions beside him, finally relaxing, if only a bit.

"Does it feel good?"

"He cares about me," she admitted.

"He does. Bones... whenever you find love, hold onto it. It's precious. Don't let it go because you're afraid it might be wrong."

"But he's a murderer."

"So am I."

His words hung heavily in the night-covered room, and she turned to him with eyes wide in shock.

"Don't even think that, Booth. By the morals of our society, you're a hero!"

"Yes, and by the very same morals, he's a criminal. Bones, maybe this says more about our society than about right or wrong itself."

Shifting a few inches towards him, she placed her head on his outstretched arm, regarding him with child-like trust.

"How can I do my job after today? After everything..." she finally whispered.

"How can you not do it? This isn't a world of black and white alone, there's a lot of gray. Doesn't mean black doesn't exist. We put bad guys away. We cannot stop."

"Does it make me hypocritical?"

The hand that wasn't busy twisting his glass reached out, found hers, clasped it. An anchor in the whirlwind that was her mind. Comfort without conditions.

"It just makes you human. Hey... you did nothing wrong. Not really. You protected your father, your family. That's it."

Taking one more sip, she studied Booth's face, deciding that he was telling the truth. At least, his version of it. Brennan didn't really know why his opinion mattered so much, more than everything else... or maybe she had a suspicion but wasn't brave enough to follow that chain of thoughts... However, in this very moment, she accepted his truth and she was grateful for it. Grateful that, just like she had stood up for Max, her partner was always willing to stand up for her.

"I think I wanna get drunk."

He laughed out and used his foot to nudge the bottle in her direction.

"Knock yourself out."

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

Her head on his arm, warm and heavy, his hand covering hers, she finally shared her own truth with him.

"I did the right thing."

"I know, Bones, I know."

She did knock herself out. And so did he. Dawn found them on his couch, wasted but peaceful in sleep, curled around each other in the most sincere embrace they had ever shared. At least up to then. Intimate but innocent.

_Bones, she believes in the system._

He had said that just a few days ago...

Except that she didn't. Not completely. Not anymore. She had learned that the truth can be bent and that, sometimes, there is more than one truth alone. Right or wrong aren't absolutes, they depend on a relative position. Depend on where you're standing.

For the first time, Temperance Brennan had stood on the side of love.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

The Third Chapter in the Story.

The passing of time is inevitable. Some call it life.

Months went by, years even. The story behind the verdict had cracked open a shell, had forced her to re-evaluate her priorities, as if preparing her for more. There had been twists and turns, backwards steps even when one of them had been braver than the other... and vice versa. But, like on an age-old course long drawn for them, Booth and Brennan had moved towards each other.

Until, one night, the last piece of the wall separating them splintered, leaving behind nothing but raw emotions.

Until, finally, both of them were brave enough to take the risk. Or... not brave enough to _not_ do it anymore.

They had gained so much since that night, since that very moment they had first laid eyes on each other. Respect, loyalty, love. A home, a family. A child...

And, for a brief blink in time, life had been perfect and wonderful and everything. They worked together, they took care of their precious baby, they had sticky ice-cream sex. There was laughter and joy and that kind of peace which only fulfilled love can give you. She was his very own jackpot, and he had happily dedicated his life to celebrating the fact that he had won the lottery, metaphorically speaking.

Life can be such a bitch.

Booth hadn't thought about Max Keenan's murder trial in years; her dad was the loving grandfather of their daughter, a part or their family. And, just like Brennan had evolved so much in the years leading to Max' acquittal, she had changed even more ever since then. They both had.

They were solid. Unbreakable.

However... in the past three days, ever since she had bid him farewell without saying goodbye in front of that damn church, Booth had been forced to relive that week from so long ago.

Of course, that damn prosecutor who wasn't Caroline had to dig the case up, had to use it to draw a portrait of Brennan's character that was so wrong, so wrong. It fit the chain of evidence, though.

Temperance Brennan had been a murder suspect once, ergo it was reasonable to assume that she might have done it again.

Booth almost laughed when he was first presented with the theory. Little did they know about Bones. He had simply braced his elbows on the interrogation table, regarding his counterpart disdainfully.

"Do you really think that, if Bones ever committed murder, you'd find evidence?"

"So you're admitting that-"

He waved it off.

"Bullshit. She hasn't done it back then, she didn't do it now."

"But she lied in order to protect her beloved ones."

"Bones doesn't lie." A little smile played around his lips, as he thought about the stubbornness of the woman he loved. "She doesn't know how."

"But you have to admit, Agent Booth, that she fled. She took your daughter and left the city with the intention of escaping a warrant. She left you. How does this look to you?"

Pain flared in his eyes, and he hurried to cover it up.

"Look, I told you three times already and I will do it again. Pelant, he's a computer genius. Look what he's done-"

"What you claim he has done."

"Whatever. As soon as she is in the system, he has her. He wins. She wouldn't be safe, and she knew it. She didn't leave me. She never would."

"Your faith in her is touching."

Bastard, Booth thought as he tried to ignore the stab of sarcasm. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he lay back in his chair.

"Why don't you just find real evidence so that my family can come home again?"

The other agent shook his head.

"This attitude is not helpful."

"Well, sorry then," he spat out.

-BONES-

It went on and on, and when it was finally over, just like the days before, Angela was waiting for him, sitting on that wooden bench like she true friend she was. With a sigh, she took in his slumped shoulders, his blank face. She had never really touched Booth, not since the very first time of flirty easiness, but she had made a habit of it ever since Brennan had left. She simply owned it to her. Wrapping an arm around his waist, Angela led him to the exit.

"Bad?"

"Worse."

"You can have the guestroom again. As long as you want to."

Thinking about his empty house full of memories of the perfect life they had been living just a week ago, he nodded. He couldn't face it alone, this empty nest. Not yet.

"Thanks. Anything new?"

Angela could hear the hope in his voice, barely suppressed, and shaking her head hurt almost as much as seeing the look of utmost defeat crossing his face.

"You have to be strong for her."

"I know. I... I'm trying." He swallowed hard.

"She loves you, Booth, never doubt that. She will come back as soon as there is a way."

"I know... I just miss them so much."

"We all do, Sweetie, we all do."

"They are my life."

She squeezed him reassuringly.

"And we are hers."

"How could this happen?"

That was the question that ate him alive, burning like acid in his insides ever since he had watched the tail lights of her car. Like always when he asked it, Angela shrugged helplessly.

"That's what we have to figure out. As soon as we can answer it, we know how to stop it."

"Angela?"

"Hm?"

"Remember when you went to jail because you refused to testify against Max?"

She smirked.

"One of my less pleasant jail experiences."

"Thank you for that. I don't know if I ever said it, but you've always been her best friend. You never failed her."

"Neither did you, Booth. Well, except for that escapade with the blonde bimbo."

Despite the graveness of the situation, he had to chuckle at Bones' best friend's refreshing perspective on things, and his head fell somehow awkwardly onto her shoulder.

"I promise to man up. Give me one more night to lick my wounds, and tomorrow I'll join the secret squint squad."

"Took you long enough, big man."

-BONES-

Dr. Temperance Brennan had friends. Her loyalty, her sincere devotion to science had gained her more respect than she might even know, and, over the years, the list of people who admired her, who owned her, had gotten longer and longer.

Fortunately, most of them were on the genius side of intelligence. The "secret squint squad", as Booth had called it, was a highly effective network of specialists, and the Jeffersonian team had been more than busy the past three days.

Copies had been made, manila envelopes had been sealed and secretly shipped. To the desert of Africa, the tropic heat of the Maluku Islands. Envelopes were opened in offices and labs worldwide, under she shadows of Egyptian pyramids and in the snow-covered Alps. Among the names Booth could barely pronounce, there were names on the list that he knew, names that rang a memory.

Dr. Zack Addy. Dr. Gordon Gordon. Dr. Goodman.

The success of the operation depended on the secrecy of everyone involved, and even then, any result would barely stand a chance in court, too high was the risk that their stretch of the law would be uncovered.

They had decided to worry about that later, though, because for now they just went with the old saying... two pairs of eyes see more than one. Imagine what dozens of pairs of eyes could discover. They had defined three golden rules, every one of them crucial for the big aim, for bringing Brennan home:

1. Do not leave an electronic trail behind.

2. Keep the Jeffersonian team untouchable by Pelant.

3. Find the odd piece that would shatter his constructed chain of evidence.

Blue eyes and green eyes and dark eyes and almond eyes blinked, some hands reaching for glasses, as evidence was dissected, theories spun.

They were scientists. And they were many; many brilliant people sharing one belief: In the end, the truth, however hidden it might be, would win.

They had told Booth the second day, after the worst pang of pain had numbed him enough to think reasonable again, and he had listened to them with mouth agape, as he found out that he wasn't alone in this, as the magnitude of how exactly not-alone he was hit him.

Pelant might be smart. But they were many.

Still, they had to be careful, had to work under the radar of the official investigation. It might take a while, and even though Booth could barely tolerate the idea of "a while", he knew that the secret squint squad was his best chance. He knew that they would win.

He simply had to believe it because... the alternative was unimaginable.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

The Fourth Chapter in the Story.

"Sh, it's okay, don't cry."

Brennan rocked the baby in her arms, desperate to soothe Christine's distress, still scared that the sound of a crying infant might put the wrong – or in this case the right – idea in someone's head. For the past two weeks, her face had been all over the newspapers.

The famous Temperance Brennan was a fugitive, a suspect in an open murder investigation – apparently, that was a story worth being told.

She tapped the rose petal lips of her daughter with her finger, and, like predicted, the little mouth opened, toothless gums clamping down. Tear-filled marble eyes looked up at her. Brennan could still see Booth's eyes in their child, and, as always in the past two weeks, her stomach clenched.

She missed him so much, so damn much.

With a last whine, Christine started to suckle at her mother's finger, finally calming down.

"It's okay, sh, I know that Mommy looks different and that it is confusing. But it's still me, see? You're not alone."

Using her sweetest voice, she called out to her daughter, and soft eyelids dropped shut. Finally.

With a long sigh, she put the baby in the middle of a nest of pillows she had previously formed on their bed. She was on the run, and despite the fact that her father had provided her with a car, enough cash and false passports, she had no crib. There was so much she didn't have. No plush bunnies. Max had arrived a week ago, brand-new clothes, wigs and baby toys in his suitcase. Brennan had taken the clothes and wigs but refused the plush toys. She didn't want a new bunny, she wanted the old one, the one Booth had bought just a week before Christine had been born, the one that had been with her right from the beginning of her life.

She didn't want to create new memories; she just wanted her life back.

A knock on the door tore her out of her musings. Holding her breath, Brennan waited for the second knock, their sign. It came, and she closed her eyes in relief.

"Come in, but be quiet," she whispered.

Opening the door, Max peeked inside.

"She's asleep?"

"Finally."

"We should pack up soon."

"I know, just give her an hour. She has been crying all night long."

Brennan looked as exhausted as she was, and Max felt a rush of sadness for his daughter.

"Honey."

She waved it off.

"Don't 'Honey' me, Dad. I just have to adjust. Given our current situation, it's perfectly normal to feel Booth's absence like some kind of loss. I just miss him so much. So much..."

Her voice was hoarse, and the older man hurried to close the distance to her in an attempt to take her into his arms. Outstretching her hands, Brennan stopped him.

"Don't touch me. I don't want your comfort. It's not fair since there is no one to hug Booth..."

The image of him alone in their house, their bed, almost overwhelmed her with pain, and she tried to blink it away, tried to compartmentalize. It was hard, had always been hard when it came to him, but now that he was in her heart, it was almost impossible. And it hurt... hurt so much.

Max voice was as soft as a caress.

"They take care of him, Tempe. He's with Angela and Dr. Hodgins, at least he was when I left. You have built yourself one fine family back home. He isn't alone."

He had told her so repeatedly in the past days, but it is difficult to reason with a sore heart. Opening his arms once more, he tried it again, and, eventually, she accepted his offer and cried a little bit, however secretly, on his shoulder.

She was a strong woman, his daughter, but even the strongest have a weak spot. Booth was hers. It was unfair, so unfair – and Max felt the unfairness of it with every angry cell of his being – that now when they had finally found together, something, _someone_ like this bastard had the power to tear them apart. At least physically.

Nobody should be forced to separate their own family. He knew that...

He knew what it had cost Brennan to make the decision, to take the baby and get into that car. He knew that she had been struggling hard for the first week, trying to be strong and brave and rational about it. When he had finally arrived, her first reaction had been loud anger, and, after that had vanished, the tears had come. It had gotten easier since then, if only a bit.

Max wasn't ashamed to admit that he had pondered the idea of solving the problem in his way... but once she had told him to be a normal dad, just to buy her a sweater. He was still convinced that everything, even murder, could be justified, and, if necessary, he would kill for her again. And again. Still, she had paid the price for that four years ago, and he didn't want to drag her into the mess in the wake of murder ever again.

He had promised her. The night after his acquittal, she had asked him to stay in DC, to stay in her life. Under one condition: From now on, he had to play by her rules. The _normal_ ones. And he had done it, at least more or less.

They had outsmarted the system once. Was this some kind of cosmic payback? Max hurt for his daughter and he wanted to see her back in Booth's arms. But that wasn't his wrong to right. However, he could keep her safe. He was a pro in running. He knew that they would be even safer if they split up, if he took the baby. After all, the world was searching for a woman with her daughter. Separating the two of them would enhance their chances. He was smart enough not to mention it, though. Max was pretty sure that Tempe would kick him out if he ever suggested taking Christine away from her.

He was still holding her in his arms, his mind going a mile a minute, and finally her sobs subsided, and, squaring her shoulders, Brennan lifted her head.

"Where are we going?"

"Little Falls, Minnesota."

"What is there?"

"Nothing, Tempe. Absolutely nothing."

-BONES-

One hour later, Brennan had carefully rearranged her make-up and was putting Christine into the brand-new pale blue baby-boy outfit. The nap had relaxed her, and the little girl looked up at her with a gurgling smile; after all, strange hair color or not, the nice woman still looked more or less like her mother.

"Are you wondering about the blue? Your dad would never allow me to dress you like this, but we both know that gender-specific colors are ridiculous, don't we?"

Christine squeaked and Brennan took this as approval.

"Smart kid. For now blue can work in our favor. Don't forget that you're a girl, though. You are your daddy's little princess, don't think I haven't heard him calling you like that. You know what?"

Finishing the last button, she took the baby and rolled onto her back, holding Christine up in the air, ogling the blue bundle above her.

"When we get back home, he can give you whatever nickname he wants. I will even let him call me Baby, although I am not an infant."

The baby kicked the air, giggling as her mother's arms swayed her gently.

"He will do everything to get us back. He loves us. Do you remember how daddy's love feels?"

Emotions tightened her throat, and Brennan let the baby land on her face, blowing raspberries on her stomach. Christine wriggled above her, chortling happily.

"His love feels warm and silly and amazing. Sometimes, it's even overwhelming, but once you're used to it, it makes everything brighter. Never forget that."

Taking a deep breath, she inhaled her daughter's familiar baby scent. She had made Max buy the very same brands they used at home, from Christine's baby powder to her own shampoo. Obviously, she couldn't stop the child from growing, but she wanted to change as little as possible.

Brennan thought about Booth's arms a lot. After a year of sharing her life with him, she missed his hugs, his physical affection with sharp pain. When this was over, finally over, she wanted to walk straight into his arms, she wanted him to wrap her into his own circle of comfort and safety, and she needed him to bury his nose in her hair and smell the familiar scent. The one he knew.

Holding onto that thought, Brennan found some kind of solace, and if it was irrational and mushy, she didn't really care. By running, she had done the logical thing. And the consequences were almost too much for her to bear.

The knock came again, twice, and Brennan got up, strapping Christine in the baby seat.

It was time to go.

Anywhere, nowhere.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

The Fifth Chapter in the Story.

The fourth week finally brought a lead, a ray of light in the dire reality that was Booth's life without Brennan and the baby. A code expert somewhere in Yemen had cracked the damn saliva message or, at least, found a pattern that made sense. That opened a new door.

Booth only understood half of it, but a new lead brought new hope, brought new information that could be sent away in dozens of manila envelopes.

The FBI had stopped bothering him a week ago, but Booth was fairly certain that they had bugged his phones, tracking his every move. It was funny how they underestimated Brennan, kept on underestimating her.

Ten days ago, she had been spotted in Australia. Five days ago, it had been London. It almost made him laugh. He knew that she would never leave the country, knew without the shadow of a doubt that she would only move away from him as far as she absolutely had to.

They were still building a case against her, but, unbeknownst to them, the good ones, her army, were equally busy in their pursuit of the truth. Booth was suspended, but he didn't give a shit. He knew that Brennan hadn't told him because he would have come with her. And had he run, his job would have been lost forever. He didn't care that much about it right know, but he knew that he would. Later. After this. For now, they still had enough friends inside the system.

He spent his days looking miserable for those who secretly observed him to see. Truth be told, he didn't really have to fake that much. He knew that someone had been in the house, he wasn't an FBI agent for nothing, but he didn't let _them_ know that he knew. He would deal with it later.

The empty crib in the yellow room mocked him, and, everywhere he looked, he found proof of Brennan. He hadn't had the heart to change the sheets, yet, so her scent was still in her pillow, even after four weeks. The nighty she had worn before she had left was still under the blanket, and, sometimes in the darkest hour of the night, he buried his face in it.

He made sure to buy more organic baby wipes, and he kept Brennan's favorite food in the fridge... only to throw it away a few days later. He kept on buying it.

Because stopping would have been like abandoning all hope. And Booth had never done that. Not when it came to her.

-BONES-

Sunday came with an unexpected guest.

"Pops!"

Booth looked at the wrinkled man on his doorsteps in wonder.

"Seeley."

The rusty voice of his childhood days washed over him, and it was a matter of seconds before he found himself in his grandfather's arms, crying heavy tears.

"I know, Shrimp, it's hard... Sh..."

And then Booth heard nothing for a while, as he lost himself in the kind of comfort only those who have raised you can provide. He felt rather sheepishly, as he looked up after minutes or hours, finding Hank on the floor, stroking the quaking body in his arms. His body.

Clearing his throat, Booth moved away from his pops.

"I have never seen you cry like this, not even back then. I'm glad I came," the older man stated with barely hidden concern.

Trying a grin but failing miserably, Booth shrugged, drying his cheeks with the back of his hand.

"That's because I do not cry."

"Of course, Seeley. Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure."

"I wept like a baby the first year without your grandma."

"Bones will come back."

"Of course she will. Now, help me up, I'm too old for the floor. What about a walk? It's a lovely day."

-BONES-

It was a lovely day, at least for the rest of the world, but three hours later, saying goodbye to Hank at the bus station, Booth felt lighter than he had in weeks. Sure, he missed Bones and Christine, but he should really get his act together. He had portrayed the helpless SOB long enough. It was time to put on Cocky.

"Thanks Pops," he said and meant it, and the older man squeezed his hand and, in doing so, slipping a folded envelope into his palm.

"Be careful, Seeley," Hank muttered before stepping into the bus with a last wave, leaving Booth behind utterly stunned and puzzled.

He opened the envelope in the dubious privacy of a Starbucks restroom, and the air whooshed out of his lungs, as he recognized the oh so familiar handwriting. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sent a quick thank-you heavenwards before losing himself in her letter, his heart beating wildly in his throat.

* * *

Booth,

I don't know when this will reach you. I'm sending it to a friend who will send it to a friend and, hopefully, at some point you will get it. I wish I could talk to you, wish I could kiss you and make everything right again.

I'm so sorry for leaving like this, so sorry. But I know that you understand. You probably did before I could.

Know that I haven't left you. Know that we want nothing more than coming home to you.

Day after day, I try to put my heart in neutral, try to pop my brain into overdrive. I believe you have once told me so, just the other way round. Booth, you have truly messed with me because my heart is so loud that, sometimes, it is hard to listen to the brain.

I know that I don't have to tell you to fight for us.

Christine misses you. She smiles less, and I try my best, I really do, but I cannot get over the fact that there is a hole, and that this hole is you not being here. I probably shouldn't burden you with my feelings, but I don't want you to think that I don't care. Because I do.

How long can it take to convict a geek with an ego and a tether? (Max called him like that, isn't it hilarious?) Hurry up because we really want to come home.

Be safe and don't do anything stupid.

All my love

Bones

I hope somebody feeds my iguana.

* * *

A smile crossed his face, and he kissed the paper, kissed the ink, kissed the movement of her hand in it.

"I love you, too", he whispered, and his heart ached, but less than this morning.

How long can it take to convict a geek with an ego and a tether?

Ego...

-BONES-

The next morning, he showed up in the lab, shaved and neat, making sure that the creepy iguana was well-fed (check), a baby monitor and his alarm clock in one hand.

"Booth!"

"Hi Angela, Cam."

He greeted them with a brief smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"What I should have done long ago. Listen, Gor- ahem, someone described Pelant as overly narcissistic, right? His ego almost as dangerous as his abilities."

The squints nodded.

"I figured he'd wanna watch me. Us. These don't belong to us."

He put the clock and the monitor on a table.

"They look like ours, but they aren't. Somebody was in our house, swapping them. Do your squinty magic and find something. And bug my house with your stuff."

By noon they had found the little cameras and their signal. And, even better, a fingerprint on the battery in the alarm clock. A fingerprint that matched. It wasn't much, but it was a beginning. They had two of his gadgets to study Pelant's technique. And it was in the official files. It was a crack in the neat chain of evidence pointing towards Brennan.

They were back.

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

The Sixth Chapter in the Story.

"Two rooms please."

The spotty boy behind the reception regarded the older man in front of him with bored eyes.

"One night?"

"Yes. Maybe two. My niece and I are on vacation and this area is supposed to be beautiful."

"Whatever. Credit card or cash?"

"Cash."

Max slipped some bills over the counter, and the boy grabbed them, offering two keys in exchange.

"No guests after midnight. The ice machine is in the basement."

"Great. Thank you."

A brief nod towards the woman waiting behind him, and she followed him down the hallway, her quick eyes gauging the place. It was crappy. They always were.

"Why can't we stay in a nice place for a change?" she whispered, and Max sighed heavily.

"Because the nice ones pay attention. And we don't want any attention."

The baby in her arms was meowing in sleep, making soft and kitten-like noises which calmed her despite the danger of the situation. Temperance Brennan wasn't a good fugitive. Granted, five weeks into this, she knew how to alter her looks, how to hide her beauty, her intelligence... anything about her that might be outside the norm. Still, it made her anxious. And she hated it.

Brennan was equally glad for Max' presence as it annoyed her. Like a fish in the water, he seemed to glide through their life on the run, always a smile on his lips, a joke that would ease any possible tension. He was the reason why they hadn't been discovered, yet, and Brennan wondered if she was only so mad at him because one hidden part of her wanted to be discovered.

Following her brain and not her heart... It was harder than expected. It seemed as if she had listened too well to Booth's lectures. Booth...

Sometimes she wished that she could refer to him as more as her life partner or Christine's father. He meant so much to her, too much even to label it... If only there was a better way to label it, albeit only in the longest hours of the night. She ached for him, her mind as much as her body, and so far the sharpness had only increased.

She had written him, secretly. Max didn't know about it and that was good. Brennan could only hope that her note had reached Booth, that the few friends she knew outside the Jeffersonian hadn't failed her.

Once, she had made it seven months without hearing his voice, without knowing that he was okay. But that had been before... before the baby, before she had let him in completely. Before his everyday love had ruined her for the merciless world of reason.

She was moving from A to B to C, keeping the baby happy, staying unnoticed. But... that was it, and doing nothing drove her crazy. For all her life, she had worked. She had been a good pupil, an eager student, a busy scientist. Brennan didn't know how to do nothing at all, so she wrote. Notes about Christine's development, bedtime stories for her, unsent letters to Booth. She couldn't work on her latest Kathy Reichs novel because doing so would mean going on with her life... and she simply refused to accept that the past weeks could have any impact beside them staying safe.

Caught in a standstill, she was running, and the irony of it almost tore her apart.

What were they doing back home? Why was Pelant still free?

Not knowing nagged at her, and Brennan couldn't shake off the feeling that she, if at home, would have solved the riddle a long time ago. She wasn't allowed to do it, though. Her mission was to stay hidden. Keep the faith.

Faith... It had never been her strongest suit. And now it turned into her biggest challenge.

-BONES-

She sang a soft tune about a tortoise and a rabbit becoming friends, while the child suckled greedily at her breast, looking up at her with big, trustful eyes.

Her right nipple felt unpleasantly sore, and Brennan wondered if she had caught some kind of infection. Five months old, Christine was old enough to be weaned, but Brennan simply didn't have the heart to do it. Booth loved to watch her when she nursed the baby, rocking her chair, murmuring sweet nonsense.

He had been the first one to touch her baby, right when she had left her womb as a slippery bundle of limps and need, and he had been the doting father ever since. Had been there for every diaper, every sleepless night, every milestone.

She simply couldn't wean Christine without Booth watching the intimate act of feeding the child one more time. And, stubborn as she was, Brennan gritted her teeth, ignoring the unpleasant hunch of pain.

Making a mental note to get some meds tomorrow, she rocked the baby in her arms, going on with her makeshift song...

The walls were thin, so thin. Often, Max could hear his daughter's muffled sobs at night, could hear the restless baby. Now, he could hear her singing. It wasn't loud enough to make out the words, but the lullaby was soft and soothing.

He was proud of his daughter. She wasn't a runner, had never been, and he knew how their current position had twisted her belief system. He was hurting for Christine as well, both of them. Remembering another time, long gone nights, his wife's grieving came back to him.

_What have we done?_

What had they done... Keeping their family safe, and, in doing so, tearing it apart.

The irony of history repeating itself burdened his soul more than the murder of the corrupt FBI director once had. But his daughter was unlike her mother.

In the end, Tempe wasn't rational enough to build herself a new life, he knew it, and he waited for the day when her patience would snap. All he could hope for was delaying the inevitable and keeping her safe as long as possible. After all, he had promised Booth.

In the other room, the singing stopped, and, with sigh, Max switched off the light. Tomorrow would be another long day

While he tried to get some sleep, while thousands of miles away one FBI agent went to bed with a gun under his pillow, Brennan placed the baby on a blanket and grabbed a pen.

* * *

Dear Booth,

this is day 38 without you. Today, Christine has focused on a bird for seven minutes straight. I believe she is already intrigued by the powers of observation, the key skill of a good scientist.

I know, it's probably too early to tell and, sometimes, a bird is just a bird, but watching her focus on something so ordinary – extraordinary for her – is still amazing.

We are safe. That's the best I can say about our current situation.

There is so much I want to share with you, but, not knowing when and if this letter will reach you, the rest has to wait until I get home. Speaking of... we miss you.

Last night, I dreamed about you. Do you remember the night after my dad's trial, when we fell asleep on your couch? The morning after? I don't know why my mind chose to remind me of that morning, but it did. You meant a lot to me back then. You mean so much more now.

I love you

Bones

* * *

"Oh Bones..."

Tousled hair, her pink sweater full of wrinkles, unfocused blue eyes. The hangover had been bad, that morning after, and sweet recognition had been followed by even sweeter awkwardness.

Lowering her letter, the crumbled piece of paper that had been behind his doorknob this morning – Thank you unknown friend! – Booth was overwhelmed by memories of that morning so long ago. It had been nothing compared to the things that should follow, years later, but, back then, it had been everything. He had let her shower first. They had shared coffee. Bumping into each other in the narrow space of his old kitchen, they had laughed nervously. She had shrugged her shoulders, he had nudged her arm. Eyes telling a story...

_Are we okay?_

_We are. Thank you..._

_Not for that._

He knew that he should probably destroy the letter, but he couldn't. After all, what would it tell? Nothing about her whereabouts. Nothing about the case. Just that she missed him. Folding it carefully, he put it into his briefcase, and this letter touched her first one.

His stubborn and brilliant woman, staying in touch against all logic. It meant more to him than he could ever tell.

Today was day 50 without her. Day damn-too-long. Yesterday, their secret network had buzzed with excitement, the recently discovered pattern behind the saliva message revealing a code, a code that fit the signal of his alarm clock and the baby monitor. A code that was a trace, and, like bloodhounds on the hunt, they were following that trail.

Gordon Gordon had flown in, studying Pelant's latest interrogation protocols, and it had been good to see the witty man, so good. He had brought a plush toy, a giant rainbow-colored turtle, and, asked for the reason behind it, the former-psychologist-turned-chef had just wiggled his head, stating that some things are allowed to be bare of reason. And just like Booth had accepted Gordon Gordon's wisdom back then, when he had told them why Brennan had refused to sail into the sunset, he accepted it now.

He placed the turtle in the yellow room, in the empty crib.

Waiting for a little girl to play with it.

They got drunk that night, at least a little bit, and if Booth told Angela that Brennan was fine, it was to blame on the wine. The artist squeezed his arm wordlessly, would never betray his slip, and they shared a bottle, shared a secret.

It is amazing what burden you are willing to carry for the ones you love.

A meal was shared, some songs were sung. After all, Sweets was a decent piano player, and every one of them had enough feelings in their heart for a melody. It was a celebration born out of despair... but it was a celebration.

The next day, eyelids still heavy, they were able to crack Pelant's code for real, to uncover the manipulation of the mental institution's observation cam. The timestamp told the truth, finally proving that Brennan had visited her friend two weeks prior to his death.

Three hours later, Pelant was gone, the tether left behind in his apartment. But the machinery was set in motion... and, finally, it was working in their favor.

There was doubt, official doubt, that Dr. Temperance Brennan was the best suspect. And doubt was more than they had had for the past weeks.

To be continued...

_This is the last pathetic chapter. Promise. This story is a bitch to write..._


	7. Chapter 7

The Seventh Chapter in the Story.

"The FBI is looking for computer hacker Christopher Pelant as a suspect in the murder of Ethan Sawyer..."

"Yes!"

Throwing his fist in the air, Max looked at the TV screen with bright eyes.

"Shelly, what does this mean for the case of Dr. Temperance Brennan, the famous best-selling author who disappeared seven weeks ago with her infant daughter?"

"So far the FBI hasn't announced any news regarding the status of Dr. Brennan, but throughout the past weeks, we have seen Hollywood stars and fellow authors standing up in a public display of support. The Jeffersonian forensic team, the very same team Dr. Brennan has worked for, has discovered the new evidence pointing towards Christopher Pelant."

"What can you tell us about Pelant?"

"He is responsible for shutting down the Senate website in 2009 and for hacking into the Pentagon security system, endangering the lives of countless US soldiers. He is classified as unarmed but dangerous."

"Shelly, I understand Mr. Pelant was under observation?"

"Yes, Bob, that's correct. There are no official details regarding his escape..."

Tearing his eyes away from the TV, Max took in his daughter. Stunned blue eyes were looking back at him.

"They did it," she finally whispered. And, "How could they lose him?"

"Tempe, that's great!"

"It's... something."

Picking up Christine from her blanket on the floor, Brennan buried her nose in her daughter's soft neck, inhaling deeply. Hope was beating wildly, as her mind evaluated the possibilities. Pelant was on the run. She was still on the list of suspects. There was doubt, precious doubt...

Placing the child on the bed beside her, Brennan started to undress her, peeling away the blue facade of Christine's clothes.

"Can you give me her dress, Dad?"

"Huh?"

"Her green dress. Please?"

Max got up and came back with the desired garment shortly after.

"And her blankie. The one with the butterflies."

"What are you doing?"

"This is over. We're going home."

"Tempe! It's not safe, yet."

"You are," one shuddered breath, "you are taking her. Bring her to Booth."

"What about you?"

"I'm turning myself in."

"No! Listen-"

"No, Dad. This," one gesture at the anonymous room, "has lasted way too long. They are looking for Pelant. They have to listen to me. It's time to rely on the system."

"What if it's a trick?"

"And what exactly do you suggest, Dad? Raising Christine as a boy? Away from her father? A life on the run? Not acceptable. This has to end. Now."

"I promised him to keep you safe!"

"And you've kept your promise. Dad, will you bring her to Booth?"

The old man bowed his head in defeat, finally nodding.

"Yes."

"If I'm lucky, they've already dropped my charges. But I have to face their questions. Running is no longer a rational choice, it's cowardly. Find Booth. Find Angela. Keep Christine safe..."

Two plus two equals four. You put sugar in your coffee, and it tastes sweet. The sun comes up because the world turns... The truth would win.

-BONES-

The doorbell rang, and Booth hurried to cover the files on his table – after all, he wasn't working this case, at least not officially. They had made remarkable progress in the past 48 hours, and he hadn't felt so energetic in weeks. It was only a matter of time. Grabbing his spare gun from the table – better be safe than sorry – he headed towards the door, opening it... and his heart forgot how to beat...

"Max," he croaked, even though his gaze was glued to the bundle in the older man's arms. Seven weeks later, the child recognized her father's voice, answering with a shriek.

"Booth, I..."

A little face, sparkling blue eyes – hell, he was still convinced that she had _her_ eyes – fluffy brown hair. Rosy cheeks, chubby fists, milky-white skin; skin even paler than _hers_.

Booth reached for the baby on autopilot, his heart beating way too loud for any reasonable thought to make it through the sudden rush of relief. She was heavy; heavier than expected, heavier than he remembered her. The green dress was unfamiliar as well, but when he buried his nose in her neck, he recognized her scent – baby and Brennan and family and love. The child patted his cheeks, gurgling happily, and Booth threw his daughter into the air with a laugh, only to catch her and hold her close to his chest anew. She had grown a few inches and her posture had improved, but other than that, she was still his baby girl, the same he knew, the same he had missed so much.

"Christine! Oh my baby..."

Lifting his head, he scanned the empty space behind Max, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Where is she? Where's Bones."

Taking a deep breath, Max shrugged.

"Turning herself in. I couldn't stop her..."

"What?"

"She said it was time to belief in the system. She said that you should trust her..."

Blinking against the agony, Booth crushed his daughter.

"Stupid, stupid woman. Why does she keep on doing this, making decisions like that alone?"

"She's always been very... independent."

Booth snorted.

"She isn't _alone_ anymore. Where is she?"

"She was behind us. Until I turned left to your house and she turned right. It's too late, Booth. I'm sorry."

Booth howled.

"Why didn't she come to me?"

"You know why. Same reason why she hasn't told you beforehand."

"Why does she have to be so damn rational?"

"Booth, listen... Whatever you know about Tempe, and it's probably more than I do... she isn't the reason-guided woman she used to be anymore. I've been with her the past weeks, I've seen her. There was nothing rational about her feelings. Nothing cold-hearted. She loves you. And she's been missing you every hour of the day."

Booth's gaze flickered from the baby to Max and back.

"I have to see her..."

"It's okay, go. I'll take Christine to Angela."

One fierce kiss, one fluttering heartbeat later, Booth was in his car, violating every rule about driving safety ever possible. If only he could drive faster than his racing heart, if only he could reach the FBI sooner. Grabbing his cell, he hit speed dial.

"Hi Booth."

"Angela, she's back!"

"What? Let me talk to her!"

"Cannot. Stupid woman went to the FBI without a word. Max brought Christine."

"Where are you?"

"On my way. Listen, I have to see her. Can you-"

"Lock away your little princess? Sure thing."

"Great. And tell the others."

"I will. Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Give her a kiss."

He grunted.

"Jeez, that wouldn't have crossed my mind."

A laugh at the other end of the line.

"Booth? It will be fine. She's back."

Careful joy rippled through his system.

"I know. I know. Later?"

"Later."

-BONES-

"My name is Temperance Brennan..."

Time refused to pass. Ever since she had watched the headlights of Max' car disappearing down the other road, her insides had been numb, so numb.

"The FBI is looking for me."

Closer to Booth than she had been in weeks, Brennan had never felt lonelier. Her breasts were aching, calling for one child to empty them. But Christine's wellbeing was off her hands. Everything was.

"I did not kill Ethan Sawyer. He was my friend."

What was she doing right now? Crying for her mother? The mere idea that Christine might mourn her, Brennan's, absence, gnawed at her with sharp teeth. She was her mother's daughter. But she wasn't. Christine was with Booth. She was fine. He was.

"My disappearance hasn't been an admission of guilt."

She'd have to ask for a breast pump. There was one in her bag, but that had been taken away from her.

"I did not murder my friend."

What would Booth think? Had she done the right thing? The honorable thing? Was he mad?

"I ran because I had to keep my child safe, don't you understand?"

He didn't. The agent in front of her, the agent who wasn't Booth, did not understand. The female agent was nicer, more understanding. She wore a wedding band. Maybe she was a mother herself. Or, maybe, it was just a trick. They had done that a lot back then, she and Booth, playing good cop and bad cop.

"She's with her father right now. Someone I trust took care of her."

She was sitting on the wrong side of the interrogation table. The one that felt like guilt.

"Booth didn't know a thing about my plan."

Had he known, he would have come with her. Would have given up everything. For her, to be with her. She knew it. That's why she hadn't told him.

"I don't care about your _opinion_. I believe in _evidence_."

Why were they so stupid? She had listened to the news this morning. Had it been this morning? It had been a good morning. Christine had slept six hours straight, and the sun had been shining.

"I don't want favors, I just want justice. I did not murder my friend."

She really needed that breast pump.

"I'm... just a mother. Not a criminal."

Why did they refuse to understand? Why...

Brennan didn't know it, but she was only a few doors away from Booth. He had tried pleading, had tried yelling. Had used his reputation and his charming smile...

In the end, it was futile. They didn't let him see her, didn't let him speak to her. The news were all over the media, and one part of his heart – the one that was a father – was so free, while the rest of it – the one who needed his woman back – was still held capture.

They kept her for two days. Two days, in which he bathed and rocked his daughter, cradling her in sleep. Two days, in which the squints hardly ever left the Jeffersonian, working as if the sake of the world depended on it – and, for them, it did. Two days, in which the secret squint squad scored once more, revealing the manipulation of the tether. Dozens of manila envelopes rushed in. Two days, in which question upon question was asked for her to answer.

Two days, in which her scent, the familiar one, was replaced by the anonymous odor of interrogation rooms and holding cells. Cheap coffee, fear and sweat. Two days, in which she didn't sleep.

On the afternoon of the second day, the iron bars parted, and if she hadn't been so damn exhausted, so damn scared, she might have sighed in relief. So, she just smoothed her wrinkled clothes in a futile attempt, grabbing the offered bag with her belongings.

Home... She just wanted to go home. But, and the thought was almost to heavy to bear, would she be welcome?

To be continued...

_I know, this ending is probably mean, but, come on, we *know* that she will be welcome._


	8. Chapter 8

The Eighth Chapter in the Story.

Home... home... She was holding onto that word, clinging to it like to a lifeline strong and steady. Home to Christine, home to Booth...

As the taxi, indistinguishable as they were, stopped in front of their house, the evening sun had just begun to touch the sky in a dusky shade of pink. Their house, their mighty hut. She hadn't seen it in seven weeks. So much had happened since then... Would her key still fit? Would everything embrace her with the utmost feeling of safety and warmth it had used to? Was it still... her home?

Booth's car was parked in front of the house, as well as her own, the one the FBI had taken seven weeks ago. A lifetime ago. It was a good sign that they had released it, wasn't it?

There was a swing set in the garden which was new, and the sight of it tightened her throat. They had always wanted to build one, but life had gotten in the way, work had kept them busy. What had he done the past weeks? While she had traveled from town to town, switched wigs and motel rooms, his life had been on hold as well. Hadn't it...? Had he build it with hope born out of despair? Or had faith never left him?

Brennan didn't know it...

Just a few feet and one door away from him, sudden anxiety was crushing her heart. What if he didn't want to see her?

_Without you, my life is just a shell of what I could be..._

He had said that to her during their very first night, the night after Vincent had died, the night they had made Christine. The night she had learned how love could be... buried underneath him but oh so free.

One more breath, one more step. Brennan felt horrible, and she was pretty sure that she looked like every one of the 48 hours they had kept her. She was desperate to see the baby, to make sure that Christine was indeed fine, but, if possible, she was even more desperate to see Booth. And, at the same time, she dreaded it somehow...

His trust in her had always been unwavering. But seven weeks are a long period of time. A lot of lonely nights. Dark hours. What would his eyes tell?

_It's a __myth__ that a __person's__ intentions and desires __can__ be __seen__ in the __eyes..._

Hell, erase that, she could. At least, with him. Was it ridiculous? Could something ridiculous feel so true?

Two more steps, and, then, suddenly, the door opened... revealing a silhouette she knew so well.

Strength shattered, bravery crumbled. Her hand flew to her mouth, muffling a sob, and, one heartbeat later, his or hers, he was in front of her... big and beautiful and real. Tears were pooling in her eyes, blocking her vision, and she blinked them away because she needed to see him clearly, needed it so much.

"Booth..."

His name on an exhale, breathless and shaken, and that broken gasp was all he needed... and his heart flew home, as he pulled her against his chest, crushing her in his arms. Her tiny sob deafened him, and, finally, her arms came around his back, fists clutching his shirt.

"Booth..."

His nose in her hair, he inhaled deeply, and her scent told a story of loneliness and fear. She was trembling in his arms, and he held her tight, so tight.

"Bones..."

His name for her finally broke her for real, and whatever courage had held her upright, had made her go on and on these past weeks, it was lost... and what remained was nothing but exhaustion and need. Burying her face in his chest, she tried to suppress the sobs, tried to be strong just a little bit longer... but it was futile, so futile. Because he was Booth, and he knew her; knew her in happiness and pain, in strength and weakness. Was allowed to know her.

He didn't shush her, didn't tell her that everything was okay, he just held her, letting her cry, letting her die a little bit in their driveway.

"Are you," one deep breath, and, still, she didn't dare lifting her head. "Are you angry?"

Letting go of her, just a little bit, he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. Blinking once, twice, her vision cleared, and, finally, she was soothed by the depth of his eyes.

"Yes... and no. Thank you for your letters..."

His voice was soft, so soft, washing over her like the sweetest balm.

"I didn't leave you. I never did. I didn't want to take her away from you."

"I know, Bones, I know."

"I..." her voice broke once more, "I missed you so much."

Then she was in his arms again, her head tucked under his chin, his heart beating wildly so close to her own, and it could have been minutes or hours that she was buried in his strong embrace, their universe healing itself. Eventually, his hand fell down, fingers slipping through hers, linking them.

"Come."

It was simple, so simple. One step, two more. A doorway. The calming silence of their living room invading her senses. _Their living room_. A triumphant shriek from the floor.

From the blanket on the floor. The baby on the blanket on the floor.

"Christine!"

Her feet moved on a will of their own, as Brennan rushed towards her daughter, the girl's little arms already outstretched in impatience. Picking up the child and hugging her happened in the blink of an eye... and one piece of her fell back into place. Gurgling noises, wet lips on her face, tiny fingers pulling at her hair.

"Christine," she murmured once more, eyes closed in relief; the kind of relief only mothers can feel.

From his place a few feet away, Booth watched the reunion, filing it away in his heart... and one more wound closed, starting to heal.

"She's already bathed and fed. I don't know if... if you wanna nurse her. Do you... do you still...?"

His voice trailed off, and Brennan turned her head, taking in his hesitancy, hurting for him.

"I do," she confirmed, the softness of her voice mirroring his own. "I couldn't stop without you..."

His eyes closed for a second.

"I'm glad..."

"It's still early, I usually do it later."

_Usually_. The word hung heavily between them, and she swallowed hard. Nodding, he turned away.

"Are you hungry?"

Was she? She should be, but her stomach was saying nothing, so she just shook her head.

"I have hummus and bell peppers," he offered almost a little bit shyly, and her heart clenched once more.

"Since when do you eat hummus?"

"I don't."

Bowing her head, she inhaled the powdery baby scent.

"I should take a shower."

"Yes, yes, of course. I could run you a bath."

"A bath would be nice."

"Do you wanna put her to bed?"

Rocking the child, she nodded.

"Yes, please. Are you joining us?"

"Yes, in a minute. Your bath..."

"Sure..."

Polite, they were so polite. The word was vibrating in her head, as she went upstairs. The house looked bigger than she remembered it, lighter, tidier. Christine's room welcomed her with yellow walls and shelves full of plush toys. Parker's mobile was there as well and a giant rainbow-colored tortoise she didn't recognize.

Her mind couldn't help but compare the room to the countless ones they had slept in those past weeks... but it wasn't really a comparison at all. This one, the one with the yellow walls, it was the standard.

Happy, Brennan mused as she changed Christine's diaper, she looked happy. Her little body relaxed, drowsy and content like the tiny drunken sailor Booth had once called her.

"We're home," she whispered, and the child looked up at her with a trustful smile. "Daddy's love... we have it back."

Unbeknownst to her, Booth had appeared in the door frame, and, not alerting her to his presence, he watched mother and daughter for one longing moment. Putting the baby to bed... it had been ordinary, so ordinary. It would never be again. Clearing his throat, he entered the room, and Brennan turned her head.

"You wanna sing to her?"

His lips crooked up.

"Nah. I still suck at it."

"She loves your voice."

"I tried last night. She protested a lot."

Picking up the baby, she patted the diaper-clad bottom.

"Let's do it together."

And together they did it. It was a rock song, but, for them, it qualified as a lullaby, and, her thumb in her mouth, Christine watched her parents – both of them – until her eyelids finally fluttered, until the last soft tunes carried her to the land of dreams.

Then they sung some more, just because they could. In the peace of dusk, Booth put his arm around Brennan, and, like it had so often before, her head fell onto his shoulder.

Normal... almost normal.

Shifting his head, he placed a gentle, lingering kiss on her temple.

"Your bath should be ready."

Nodding, she brushed some curls out of her brow, tearing her eyes away from the sleeping face of their daughter.

"I probably reek. The FBI's facilities could need improvement."

He squeezed her, but only briefly.

"No, you are wonderful. Can I... can I come with you?"

Eyes seeking each other, souls bare... She nodded.

"Yes. Yes, of course..."

Seven weeks and 48 hours later, she undressed almost shyly in front of him. She had lost some pounds, her baby weight and probably even more. Her hair was tangled, her legs unshaven, but she allowed him to see it, to see it all. The curve of her breasts, still heavy with milk, the pale shade of her skin.

He knew her, knew her so intimately... Why was it so hard to be bare in front of him again?

Shedding the last pieces of her clothes, she held her breath, awaiting his verdict, and in the lavender-scented space of their bathroom, he took a deep breath, taking her in.

"You are beautiful," he finally uttered, and one more part war righted. Brennan knew that she wasn't; not after seven weeks of crappy nights and barely eaten meals, not after 48 hours with the FBI... but she realized that she was to him. Still. Despite everything.

"Thank you," she just whispered, finally breaking eye contact, stepping into the hot water. He had used her favorite bath oil, and her eyes almost crossed in pleasure, as she surrendered herself to the simple pleasure.

Crouching down beside her, he grabbed a washcloth, dripping some more lavender oil onto it.

"Let me?"

His voice was barely a whisper, and she hurt for him, hurt for herself, as she nodded with closed eyes.

Dipping the washcloth into the water, he soaked it carefully before running it over the length of her arm. And her leg. And her side... He was cleansing her almost reverently, washing away seven weeks of tears and doubts.

"Booth?"

"Yes?"

Big brown eyes so sore, so vulnerable.

"Never doubt that I want you by my side. You don't have to ask... for anything."

Inhaling a shuddered breath, he nodded, not stopping his ministrations.

"I don't do well without you," he finally admitted, and she laughed out humorlessly.

"That's good because being without you sucks."

The breath whooshed out of his lungs, but then one corner of his mouth curved up.

"Dr. Brennan, what a colloquialism!"

Her head hit the bathtub with a thud, and she chuckled deep in her throat.

"Sometimes I believe that eloquence is overrated."

"Bones?"

The washcloth stilled, and, lifting her head, she sought his gaze anew.

"Yes?"

His seriousness hit her, and she held her breath.

"We have to talk. A lot. But... can we do it tomorrow?"

She wanted to close her eyes, wanted to cry a little bit more about his acceptance, but she owed him, so she held his gaze and simply nodded.

"Yes. I'm not going anywhere. And... I have a lot to share as well."

Lifting her wet hand out of the water, she cupped his rough cheek.

"I love you. I ran because I love you and I came back for the very same reason. You know that, right?"

Her voice was hoarse, so hoarse, and he squeezed his eyes shut, nodding wildly.

The washcloth started to move again, following curves and bones.

"You lost weight," he finally stated. And, "Good thing I bought hummus, huh?"

"Seven weeks, Booth..."

The amount of time they hadn't seen each other overwhelmed her with sudden sharpness, and shifting in her water, she looked at him, taking him all in.

"Do you... do you love me?"

She knew it, knew it, but, suddenly, Brennan needed to hear it more than anything else. He laughed out roughly, and, one blink later, her face was in his hands, lips finding hers, finally – Finally! – in their first kiss after. It was slow and it wasn't. Sweet but rough at the same time. Undisguised. Quick but oh so raw.

"How can you even doubt that?" he whispered, his lips so close to hers, and her arms came around his neck, holding him firmly in place.

"How can you doubt for a second that I love you? Need you?"

"I don't," she whispered, kissing and soothing. "I never did."

Lips parted, hearts opened, tongues met. He tasted so clean, so innocent... almost like the rain she had kissed away from his lips so many years ago... And another piece fell back into place.

"Let's go to bed," she whispered, suddenly needing him like she had never needed a man before, not even him, but he shook his head with eyes wide shut.

"I'm not done. Let me take care of you. Please. I need this."

Reaching for the shampoo bottle – hers, the one that had been abandoned for weeks – he squeezed a generous amount of liquid into his palm, rubbing gently before lifting his hands to her hair. He massaged away dirt and the scent of the ugly world, purifying her.

Grabbing the shower head, he tested the temperature of the water, and, when he was satisfied, she leaned back to give him better access to her shampooed hair. Rinsing out seven weeks and 48 hours. Rinsing out so much more.

She was a puddle of relaxation, when he finally finished, and the terrycloth towel he offered her was big and fluffy. So comfortable and warm. She could have dried herself, she knew it, he knew it, but Brennan let him do it for her. Methodically, he rubbed limb after limb, phalange after phalange and, afterwards, he came back with the softest pajama she owned. Comfort to be dressed in.

Their bed looked cozy and big, big enough to hide in for the rest of her life. With a sigh, she slid under the blanked, allowing him to tuck her in. He stilled for a moment, getting used to the sight of her in their bed once again; the sight he had missed so sorely.

Patting the empty space beside her, his side, she just asked, "Do you come?"

And he nodded, nodded almost as quickly as he stripped down to his boxers, before getting under the covers beside her. She turned around, crawling into his arms, and the space that had been empty for so long felt suddenly right again.

The curve of her against his body. The familiar weight of her head on his shoulder, her shampoo's scent in his nose. Shifting her head, she sought his lips, needing them, and, his fingers tangled in her damp curls, he kissed her, drank her, drowned in her... squeezing his eyes shut against the sensations because they were almost too much, too intense.

"I love you," he said roughly, his arms locking her, and she sighed, feeling oh so free again.

And, in her arms, he started to quake, started to come apart. Stroking and caressing and touching, she soothed him, accepting his sorrow, righting his wrong.

"Tomorrow, Booth, we'll talk tomorrow," she promised, and he burrowed his face in the crook of her neck.

"I know," he said. "We have time, don't we?"

"We have."

His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt, resting on the small of her back, her soft skin warm and familiar under his callous one. Like the perfect contradiction they had always been.

And it was night.

A night as soft and velvety as they come.

And, for once, it couldn't part them.

To be continued...

_I poured a lotta heart into this one..._


	9. Chapter 9

The Ninth Chapter in the Story.

The wail of a baby pulled Brennan out of the deepest sleep she had experienced in ages. Why was she crying? Was something wrong? Experience let her relax after one breathless second, telling her that Christine wasn't really in distress. Probably just hungry. The mattress beside her moved, a very familiar voice, still rough with sleep, said, "I'll get her."

It hadn't been a dream...

Booth. She was home! Back home! With Booth! Christine was in her bed, her very own crib, the one with the mobile, and they weren't running anymore. The events of the past days came back with the speed of light, and before he could disentangle himself from their sheets, Brennan stopped him by flinging herself into his arms, hugging him clumsily and fiercely in the darkness. After a second of puzzlement, he closed his warm arms around her, hugging her back.

"Bones?"

"You're here," she whispered in wonder, and he swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat, as her scent, as her nearness invaded his senses.

"No, _you_ are here," he whispered back, his hand roaming over her back, her hair...

"We're both here..."

Getting impatient, Christine deepened her protest.

"As is she." He smiled into her shoulder. "Don't go anywhere," he said with a last squeeze before leaving the bed, padding away on bare feet.

Propping against some pillows, Brennan undid the buttons of her shirt while listening to his soothing daddy mode voice coming out of the baby monitor. Despite the dark hour of the night, it was hard not to smile like a happy fool.

Back home. She was back home. He had welcomed her with arms wide open, hugged her and bathed her and held her. Home...

The voices coming out of the baby monitor faded away, but then she could hear him coming back into the room, the child's wail reduced to mere whimpers.

"Here we go."

And, like so often before, she outstretched her arms, and, in the darkness, he placed the child in them. Recognizing her mother's body, Christine started to smack demandingly.

"Bones... can I...?"

"Switch on the light."

It was dimmed, but still bright, and the three of them blinked a few times to adjust to the sudden light. A smile for Booth, one for the baby, and then she shifted the child in her arms and rosy lips closed around her nipple, suckling instantly.

Taking a seat at the end of the bed, Booth couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Brennan breastfeeding the child.

Once upon a time, he had been appalled by the idea of milk coming out of human breasts. Well, that had been before her. Before them. It had always amazed him, the way she could nurture their child, and he had watched her doing it so often before. Like always, the intimacy of it overwhelmed him. It was beautiful, so beautiful. A strong feeling of protectiveness rushed through his system, as he watched mother and daughter. They were his.

Christine's lips suckled lazily on her mother's breast, and, despite her heavy eyelids, the girl tried to hold Brennan's gaze, seeking something – a bond, reassurance, warmth – and finding it.

Holding his breath, Booth took them all in, memorizing the moment for eternity. The fluff of brown hair on the baby's head, her little fist clutching Brennan's shirt, the way she cradled the child.

Eventually, with a soft smack, Christine released the nipple – dark and glistening with milk – and, shifting her once more, Brennan positioned her on her other breast. And the procedure of suckling and gazing and smacking began anew.

Booth was so focused on the drinking baby that he failed to notice that Brennan had looked up, failed to notice how an expression ever so reverent washed over her face, as she recognized his devotion, his awe. And she was glad, so glad that she hadn't weaned the baby, had listened to her instincts. She had _known_, and watching him watching them, she realized how right she had been.

And something more fell back into place.

Something in her chest opened, in her belly stirred, and when he, finally, finally, looked up, he sucked in a breath, almost falling into her eyes. He just looked at her, or she looked at him, and then, slowly, oh so slowly, the brightest smile she had ever seen lit up his face... and she had to smile as well, laugh at his joy, and then he was laughing with her, crawling towards her, taking her and breast and baby and everything into his arms.

An outcry of protest interrupted the sweet moment, and he lowered his lips, kissing Christine's soft head, brushing Brennan's cheek with one gentle finger.

"Are you thirsty?"

He finally remembered his supportive-partner duties, and she nodded gratefully.

"Yes."

"Back soon."

When he came back with a glass of water a few minutes later, the baby had stopped to suckle, snoring peacefully with the nipple still in her mouth.

"Look at that, she's drunk," he smiled, offering her the glass.

Brennan smiled right back at him, smiled at _them_ before gulping down the water. As satisfying as breastfeeding was, and she really enjoyed the intimate connection with her daughter, it always made her thirsty, so thirsty.

Taking the child out of her arms, drowsy eyes opening for one second, he placed her on his shoulder, patting the little back, awaiting the burp, and Brennan sunk back into her pillows, watching the child, his bare chest, the new familiarity of the moment.

"I'm gonna change her. Back soon, Bones."

She had missed this for seven weeks and 48 hours, this and so much more.

After closing her buttons, she rearranged the pillows. The raw but beautiful feeling of coming home soothed, her heart so full, the butterflies in her belly still fluttering, she left the bed, following him to the nursery. Stopping in the hallway, watching him once more. Booth. Changing the diaper, buttoning up the onesie. Murmuring soft nonsense. Picking up the sleepy baby and placing her in the crib. Turning on the mobile. Turning around... and seeing her. Seeing an entirely new feeling of need on her face.

"Bones?" he whispered, but she had already taken one, two steps towards him, grabbing his face, pulling his lips down to hers.

She whimpered, as his mouth touched hers, as his tongue slipped between her lips, and, tasting his sharp intake of breath, she pressed herself as close as possible to his body, feeling his strength from head to toe.

"Bones," he hissed almost desperately, as her hands slid around his back and lower, pulling him even deeper into her softness.

"Is this too soon?" she murmured, suddenly hesitant, and he picked her up with a rough laugh, pressing her against the nearest wall.

"No," he reassured her between kisses, "this is never too soon."

Her head fell back, hitting the wall, as he attacked her throat, nibbling and biting and licking. Tasting and feeling. An old sensation of warmth spread out in her womb, and, wrapping her legs around his back, she felt weightless and oh so free again.

Touching him everywhere while clinging to him was difficult, but she needed to run her fingers over his chest, his back, his rough cheek, through his hair, needed to reconnect with him on the most basic level mankind had ever known.

The sound of kisses filled the air, but, suddenly, it was mingled with a soft meow, remembering them that they had barely left the nursery and that an infant's proximity to this kind of homecoming was probably inappropriate.

Letting go of her for one second, Booth sought her eyes, dark and dazzling, took in her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips. She looked breathless... and happy.

"I love you," he rasped, and her head fell onto his shoulder, as he began to move, carrying her back to their bedroom like the precious treasure she was.

"I love you, too," she whispered, her hands never stopping their soft caress, mapping his skin, learning him anew.

Then the world tumbled, and she found herself flat on her back, the mattress shifting under the impact of their weight, his body towering above her. With a content moan, she let her hands roam freely, finding smooth skin and hard muscles underneath. Spreading her thighs, just a few inches, he sunk down, and the feeling of his hard body so close to hers, finally, again, almost brought tears to her eyes.

Closing his lids against the sensation, he burrowed his face in the crook of her neck, dropping a gentle row of kisses onto her skin, before his fingers started to work on the buttons she had just closed. This time, it was different, though, because, right now, she wasn't a mother, she was just his woman. And there was nothing 'just' about it. Shifting his head, he kissed the swell of her breast, inhaling the sweet scent of her and milk, nuzzling the tender flesh with his lips.

With a long sigh, her fingers raked through his hair, holding him in place... enjoying his mouth on her, as the butterflies began to fly.

"I've missed you so much, so much," she confessed barely audibly, and he almost crushed her in his arms, as his lips slanted down on hers anew, as her kiss turned into kisses, turned into everything.

He was hard, so painfully hard, but the release he needed was more than just a physical one. He wanted to have sex with her because it was fun and great and they were both very athletic, and he would, maybe tomorrow... but tonight, tonight he just needed to make her his all over again. Needed to hear everything which words could never say in a language only bodies had ever been able to master.

And she understood.

Shimmying out of her clothes, she felt him skin to skin, warm and real, finally again, and, as her hands slipped into his boxers, lowering them, he groaned helplessly, thrusting involuntarily into her. This was Bones, _his_ Bones... and they had always been so damn perfect together.

Rolling them around – because just as much as he needed to make her _his_, she needed to make him _hers_ – she let her lips trail over his chest, soft auburn hair tickling his skin, evoking a sharp gasp. Pulling her atop of him, he let his hands roam over her gloriously naked body, caressing and squeezing, rediscovering his favorite spots, evoking reactions he had once known by heart, reactions he had never forgotten.

"Bones... you're so beautiful..."

She who was beautiful threw her head back in pleasure, as he cupped her full breasts, brushing the sensitive nipples; closed her eyes on a deep breath, as his hands slipped lower, fingers pressing between their bodies... stroking over her and into her.

Molten heat. Silky perfection. Muscles reacting to his touch, tightening around his fingers.

"As are you," she breathed, and then her world was turned once more, as he rolled them around again, positioning himself above her.

Stilling, hard and panting and desperate as he was, he just looked at her, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face... and then he granted himself the luxury to kiss her, just kiss her for a few more minutes. It was the sweetest agony ever, but she was so warm, so alive in his arms, and, for the love of God, he just wanted for this moment to last.

"Booth," she finally urged him in her softest voice, her fingers digging into his back, and, with a nod, he aligned himself. Her thighs parted for him, as her body longed to accommodate him... and then he pushed forward... inch by delicious inch.

Wet. She was so wet. And tight. And warm.

Dizziness overwhelmed him somehow, and she had gotten still, so very still in his arms.

Opening his eyes, he saw tears shimmering in her deep blue, and if it hadn't been for her wonderful smile, he would have stopped... but so he just kept on sinking into the heavenly warmth of her... and, one heartbeat later, they were joined. Finally, truly joined again.

Her arms locked around his back with strength she hadn't known she possessed, and, in her vice-like hold, he could barely move... but this would neither last long nor was it about finesse.

Tilting his pelvis, he rocked into her.

And she sobbed... or maybe it was him... and whose tears could he taste on her lips?

"Baby," he whispered, and it was a slip, but, if possible, she just clutched him tighter.

"Yes, please, yes."

What was she pleading for? For him to move? For him to stay like this for the rest of their lives? For him to make her fly?

He tried to do all of it.

Her body began to hum an age-old melody, as he moved in and out of her, stroking her as intimately as ever possible, all the while holding her, kissing her. He possessed her with an ancient kind of strength, doing it without capturing her... just like she possessed him.

He was Booth, she was Bones.

Nothing could part them, nothing...

"Bones... Baby... Can't hold... don't want it... be over..."

"I know, I know," she panted into his neck, breathed into his mouth... and time stilled, as her body splintered... and something flew freely, something ethereal and pure that was both him and her.

His cry, her sweat, his weight, her pleasure, his oblivion, her haven...

And then... they were both still there. Stunned and silent and breathless. Looking at each other with sudden reverence. Sharing an almost chaste kiss. Unable to let go of each other, unwilling to disentangle.

The things you want and the things you need... Sometimes they are not alike. But, hell yes, sometimes they are.

There was still a lot to talk about... maybe even to cry about. But it could wait until tomorrow. For now, their bodies had spoken.

_I love you._

_You belong to me._

_We're whole._

One language.

To be continued...

_Sigh... I just love writing M..._


	10. Chapter 10

_This is the last chapter._

The Tenth Chapter in the Story.

Dawn broke; dawn as rosy and new as it had ever been seen. The first rays of light found a baby stirring in her crib, turning around once more; found a man and a woman helplessly entangled in their sheets, his protective arms around her, her head resting trustfully on his chest.

Had it only been yesterday that the world had seemed to be so bleak? Had it only been last week that she had denied her name, her life, her home?

He was dreaming – old habits die hard – and it wasn't the pleasant kind of dream. He was lost, somehow lost, fighting against it in sleep, fighting for something. Awakening with a sudden gasp, Booth was still struggling, but it only took him seconds to notice the woman's weight in his arms, seconds to realize that dreams couldn't hurt him anymore, that his world was, once again, whole.

Relaxing with a deep breath, he tried not to crush her, not to hold her as tight as he possibly could. She was back. Had come back into his life, their life, with lost eyes and a haunted look on her face. Blinking against the new day, he tried to focus, and, eventually, he was able to see her clearly. The milky-white vastness of her skin. The elegant curve of her body. The mess of her dark hair. Her long lashes casting shadows on her rosy cheeks. His woman.

Torn between watching her and waking her, he brushed her soft cheek with one tender finger. Eyelids fluttered, as she mumbled in sleep.

"Hi Bones," he whispered, and blue eyes flew open, unfocused, vulnerable and more beautiful than he had ever seen them.

"Booth," she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep, and, with a smile, he pulled her closer into his embrace, her body molding against his like a perfect fit.

"What time is it?"

"Early."

"Christine?"

"Still asleep."

"Hmm... Why are you awake?"

Because you were gone. And I was lost.

"Dunno. Bones?"

"Hm?"

"Nothing beats waking up next to you."

His words hit her unguarded heart, and she peppered drowsy kisses onto his shoulder.

"I know. Booth..."

The reality of the day caught up with her, and she looked at him with sudden seriousness.

"I'm back... What about the lab? What am I supposed to do?"

He let go of a deep sigh.

"I guess it's time to talk, huh?"

Christine had decided that it was about time to start the day, informing her parents with happy gurgling, and Brennan groaned into his chest.

"Your daughter is awake."

"I believe she is your daughter."

"Why is she always my daughter in the morning?"

"She is your daughter at night as well."

It was an old banter, and playing it once more lifted his heart. Lowering his mouth, he placed a kiss in her unruly her.

"Okay. Baby, shower, breakfast?"

"That sounds correct."

"And then we talk."

Taking one more deep breath, she nodded.

"Then we talk. Booth?"

"Huh?"

"Are we... are we solid?"

She looked at him with almost child-like trust, and his heart clenched.

"Always, Bones, always. Remember? We're the center."

"And the center must hold," she finished.

"We did, we do, we will," he confirmed with one more gentle kiss, before leaving their bed. Ready to start the day. Was he ready?

Brennan took her time in the shower. The water cascading down her body, her luxuriously aching body, was a pleasure she hadn't felt in a long time, and she both reveled in it and stalled to delay the inevitable.

The talk.

How do you apologize for taking someone's life away? For taking their child, their joy, their everything...? Still, even after last night, even after finding the utmost reassurance in his arms, she didn't know how to. But this was Booth... and, in the end, she had always found a way back to him.

She found her towel on its usual hook... as if it had been waiting for her. Found her lotion in the shelf, her underwear in the drawer. Fragments of her life... only that they were so much more than fragments.

Then it was time.

Booth was in the kitchen, the fragrance of coffee in the air, Christine happily munching her banana pulp. Cooing gently, as she noticed her mother. Brennan waved at the baby. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, taking a seat, taking a breath. A deep breath. And a sip. Then...

"How has it been?"

The spoon feeding the baby stilled.

"What exactly?"

His voice so raspy, so dark.

"Everything," she whispered, and he sighed deeply, the spoon moving once again.

"We were coping. Cam was great, really great. The Jeffersonian never lost the case. I... I wasn't much help, but the secret squint squad was amazing."

"Secret squint squad?"

"Your friends, Bones. And admirers. People who believe in you. A whole bunch of smart asses around the world... Bones, we owe them, owe them a lot."

Her eyes had gotten a strange look.

"I don't have that many friends."

Manila envelopes, dozens and dozens of them...

"You do, believe me, you do. There are a lot of letters waiting for you. Angela was great as well. Saving me over and over again. Giving me a place to sleep, something to eat... I was kind of lost, you know?"

Her heart felt sore, so sore.

"I never wanted to hurt you..."

Her voice tiny, so tiny.

He just shrugged.

"Well, you did. It's inevitable when you love someone. You gone... Christine away... Bones, I did not take it well. I was mad, so mad. At you and Max. At Pellant... For all my life," he swallowed hard, "for all my life I wanted to have something like this. A family. Then I met you... and I only wanted you. Whatever life you could offer me. You gave me the most incredible thing... and then you took it away. Rationally, I understood. Knew, why you did it. But..."

His voice trailed off, enveloping her in seven weeks of darkness.

"But you couldn't grasp it," she continued. "You kept on turning at night, and the sheets next to you were empty..."

"Yeah," he muttered, and she just nodded.

"So did I, Booth, so did I."

"You had her..."

She laughed out roughly, her gaze lingering on the child.

"A baby who wouldn't stop crying. Wouldn't stop growing and changing when all that I wanted was going back in time and back to you..."

Using his thumb, he brushed a smear of banana pulp away, and rosy lips smiled back at him.

"I've missed you so much, so much..."

It was directed at the mother, even though he looked at the child.

"Booth..."

"Bones... I wanna say that it's okay. That I understand. That it doesn't hurt... But it does, okay? It does..."

Getting up on wobbly legs, she went to her purse, coming back with a little notebook and her phone some moments later.

"I know that I can't undo what I have done... Cannot give you those weeks back. But I have something for you."

Shoving the phone and notebook into his hands, she awaited his reaction. He looked up at her with fragile eyes.

"What is it?"

"Evidence. Progress. One picture a day. Notes. I tried to capture everything; the changes, the milestones, the little somethings. For you."

Holding his breath, he lowered his gaze, opening the notebook... and her clear handwriting invaded his senses.

_June 3rd... Christine couldn't sleep. Again..._

Some pages later.

_She can turn around! From her back to her belly and the other way round. There's an almost triumphant glee in her eyes every time she does it... Oh, Booth, if only you could see it... _

His breath left him, as he turned the pages.

_June 22nd. The shortest night has been so long. Tummy ache? Homesick? Oh, Booth, if only you could hold her. Us... July 5th. How has there ever been a time when I have fought you? Denied the simple truth? Miles and hours away, I'm yours..._

The letters blurred in front of his eyes, as he was caught in a whirlwind of emotions.

"Oh Bones... You did that?"

One slow nod. Blue eyes wide, so wide.

"For me?"

More nodding, more eager this time.

"Check out the pictures."

And he did. One picture a day, seven weeks came back to him. It reminded him of the snapshots she had received in their early daycare time, one every thirty minutes. And, over time and distance, he saw his daughter grow. Saw the days, the changes. In some pictures, Brennan was holding the child, standing in front of a mirror, her eyes dark, her smile forced.

Browsing the album, the things she had done for him, he felt a deep ache in his chest; an ache that was for her.

"Bones..."

His voice broke on her name, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from one particular photo of Brennan and Christine. The baby was wearing something blue, her lips pouting. Looking at that picture, he just wanted to hold them, soothe their distress... Distress that was long gone. Pain that had happened.

Blinking once, twice, he snapped the phone shut, getting up. Without speaking a word, he closed the distance to Brennan in three long strides. Taking her into his arms.

Without resistance, she let him, burrowing her vulnerable soul in his chest, inhaling him in.

"I am _so sorry_, Booth," she murmured once again, and, just like last night, just like he always would, he forgave her.

"Thank you, Babe."

"It's not much..."

She sniffled in his arms, her fists clutching his well-worn shirt.

"It is. It is..."

His lips landed on her silky hair almost roughly.

"More than everything, I'm glad that you were safe..."

"I was safe. But never whole. I've..." she inhaled deeply, "I've changed. You made me change. And I'm better now. So much better than I've ever been alone."

Her eyes were firm, as they met his, blue boring into brown.

"I want it all, Booth. You and Christine and the lab... But if I had to choose... it would be you, Booth. Our family. Without a doubt."

Taking her face in both hands, he let his lips brush over hers.

"You don't have to choose. We'll get it back. All of it. I promise."

"Is that faith speaking?" she smiled weakly, and he chuckled.

"I know you, Bones. And I know our squints. I just know."

Taking a step backwards, she looked at him. Looked at the baby who was busy squishing banana pulp between her fingers. One smile for her; one for him.

"We should visit them."

"Yeah. We should. After breakfast?"

"After breakfast."

And it was morning; a morning like all the others they had shared before. Coffee and toast and fruits. Laughter and smiles and kisses. Banana pulp in the baby's hair. It was a morning somewhere between an ordinary Tuesday and autumn. One that was both old and new.

And he was happy, so happy.

And she was relieved, so relieved.

Notes and pictures and memories had been the patches, covering wounds and scars the time had inflicted on them. They were battered, they were bruised... but they were whole as well.

Finally. Again.

-BONES-

Angela was the first to squeal. Lovely, crazy Angela with her big heart. Hodgins was the first to choke on his words. Surprisingly, Cam was the first to cry.

Pushing Christine's stroller, Booth lingered a few steps behind Brennan, watching the reunion. The past weeks had shaken her strong facade, altered her usual no-hug-attitude, and he couldn't help but grin at the parade of clumsy embraces in front of him. Squints would be squints, he thought, casting a glance at his daughter who was busy suckling her own toe.

"Look at that, Christine, Mommy's back in the lab. Ah, well, almost. It's only a matter of time till we catch the bad guy. Can you say 'bad guy', huh? Then Mommy can play with her bones again."

Christine made an affirmative sound, at least it sounded like that to Booth.

"And Daddy's gonna be an FBI agent again. It's gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be okay. Huh? Seems as if Mommy's crying again."

She was indeed, albeit very discretely. It was just so much, the warmth in the welcome, the joy that was so palpable. After having been a stranger in someone else's life for so long, it was harder than expected to adjust to the familiarity and friendship. It was a good way of adjusting, though, a very, very good way. One that made her heart thump in a way that spoke about possibilities and hope.

Looking over her shoulder, she sought Booth's face, finding reassurance in his wide smile, and then Cam was in front of her anew, a huge basket full of manila envelopes in her arms. Recognizing some of the foreign names and addresses, in some cases even the handwriting, Brennan looked up at Cam with confusion written all over her face.

"What's that?"

"Do you know the story about the yellow ribbon and the old oak tree, Dr. Brennan?"

"No, I'm not familiar with that tale."

"Well, there's this guy, and he's done his time. He's in a bus back home from prison, but he doesn't know if he's still welcome, still loved. There's this old oak tree in his town, and he's told his love to wrap a yellow ribbon around it if... if she still wants him. Or he would just stay in the bus. Never come back. So, he's in this bus, not knowing if he can dare to hope for a yellow ribbon... and then they drive around the corner and he sees the tree. It's full of ribbons. Hundreds of them. Here, Dr. Brennan," she shoved the basket into Brennan's arms, "here are your ribbons."

Looking down at the manila envelopes, hundreds of them, Brennan felt sudden tightness in her throat. It was so much better than greeting cards; it was proof of faith.

"That's a nice story," she finally whispered, and Cam sniffled.

"It is. Welcome home."

"I feel the need to hug you again."

Cam nodded wildly.

"Yes."

And they hugged – awkwardly around the basket.

And then they talked some more; sharing facts, revealing feelings.

And, maybe, tomorrow, one woman would open the envelopes, finding words of loyalty and friendship, finding theories and evidence. She even might shed some more tears.

And, maybe, one week from today, a SWAT team would storm into a motel room somewhere in the middle of nowhere, arresting a boyish looking man with black hair, taking away his computer.

Maybe there would be a trial some day and old enemies would face each other anew, genius and genius, but, this time, the line between good and evil would be clear – at least as clear as such a line could ever be since good and evil depended on a relative positions.

A child would learn how to walk. How to talk.

Maybe she would get a sibling one day.

The future was unwritten, and that's likewise the sake and curse of it, but, as for today, Booth went home with Brennan. They bathed their daughter, put her to bed, and, later, he made love to his woman and it was both sweet and rough. Because he loved her and she was everything... but also because he just could and it was fun.

Maybe he would ask for a promise, a promise that she couldn't give because, in the same situation, she just knew that she would do it again, over and over. And it would break her heart again... over and over. But she could give him another promise, one that made him gasp, one that had always been his dream.

One day later he bought a ring.

And there was no "maybe".

The End.

_Writing this story was both sweet and painful, so the next one will probably be a little bit more fluffy and funny._

_Also, I've started (and so far it's a very tentative start) to write a little something about Castle. Chances are that one of my next updates won't be Bones but Castle. Doesn't mean that I will abandon Bones. Never could. I'm with her, with them, all along the way._

_Thank you for reading!_

_Ann.  
_


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